In Memoriam
We had the memorial service for my brother today. He passed away yesterday, the 29th of July after a three and one-half year struggle with cancer. Glen was a great brother. I'll always treasure the time that we spent together as roommates along with our other roomie, Mark, affectionately referred to us as MK VII Ltd. There were other good times, too. And after the service most of us got together for dinner at a nearby restaurant.
Knowing he was going to die for some time has given me ample time to steel myself for this. It's been difficult, but I'm coping pretty well. One of my sisters asked me how I was after the service, and I told her I was OK. She said, "You're not."
"Yes, I'm fine."
"I want you to be fine."
Knowing that I have access to that kind of support is a great source of strength to me. Two of my siblings couldn't make it to for the service. One is in the hospital, and the other lives in Mississippi. I would have liked to have seen them today, but it wasn't possible.
A few weeks ago I sent Glen an e-mail. It wasn't great prose, but it really gave me a chance to express some of my feelings for him, and everyone else in the family. It really helped me through this loss process, and I hope it provided him some comfort as well.
The day before he passed away I was able to spend a couple of hours with him. It really meant a lot to me. We talked about some things that were really important, free of the concerns that often accompany an open discussion. We were honest with each other, which is nothing new, but we communicated on a much deeper level. I asked him to see what he could do about helping me get some answers to questions that I have. Maybe most importantly, I asked him to tell Dad that I miss him. I know that message has been delivered.
In some ways I found the dinner afterwards provided me with more closure and comfort than the service. Having a chance to see loved ones again and share memories with one another was really comforting to me. Obviously, dinner out is more relaxing than a memorial service. But sitting down to compose these words which may never be read by anyone again has served as a cathartic experience.
Goodbye Glen, until we meet again.
Knowing he was going to die for some time has given me ample time to steel myself for this. It's been difficult, but I'm coping pretty well. One of my sisters asked me how I was after the service, and I told her I was OK. She said, "You're not."
"Yes, I'm fine."
"I want you to be fine."
Knowing that I have access to that kind of support is a great source of strength to me. Two of my siblings couldn't make it to for the service. One is in the hospital, and the other lives in Mississippi. I would have liked to have seen them today, but it wasn't possible.
A few weeks ago I sent Glen an e-mail. It wasn't great prose, but it really gave me a chance to express some of my feelings for him, and everyone else in the family. It really helped me through this loss process, and I hope it provided him some comfort as well.
The day before he passed away I was able to spend a couple of hours with him. It really meant a lot to me. We talked about some things that were really important, free of the concerns that often accompany an open discussion. We were honest with each other, which is nothing new, but we communicated on a much deeper level. I asked him to see what he could do about helping me get some answers to questions that I have. Maybe most importantly, I asked him to tell Dad that I miss him. I know that message has been delivered.
In some ways I found the dinner afterwards provided me with more closure and comfort than the service. Having a chance to see loved ones again and share memories with one another was really comforting to me. Obviously, dinner out is more relaxing than a memorial service. But sitting down to compose these words which may never be read by anyone again has served as a cathartic experience.
Goodbye Glen, until we meet again.